


Old Fashioned Love Song

by Peapods



Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is probably a love song playing on the runway, but it's not old-fashioned, it's not about bourbon and it was probably written by someone who liked Cosmos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Fashioned Love Song

“I really am asking myself why I thought saying yes was a good idea,” Rachel said as photographers shouted and cameras clicked. Around them, other stars mugged for the camera.

“Because you love me and want to spend time with me,” Anderson answered.

“I really don’t think that’s it,” she said, her smile straining as they finally made their way inside the tents putting on the fashion show. 

“Because they have the best free booze here,” Anderson said, grabbing two glasses of said booze off a tray and handing her both. She downed one, grimaced, and downed the other. 

“Top shelf, terrible bartending,” she said. 

"They're usually mass produced by the minions in food service," he told her.

Anderson expertly weaved her through the crowds while she scouted for anyone she might be able to talk to. “You don’t suppose the Olsen twins know much about energy policy?”

Anderson only shot her one of his catty looks that told her all she needed to know.

“We just need to avoid everyone and find our seats. Diane’s made sure I’m not sitting next to anyone too... outrageous.” 

“I’d rather find the bar,” Rachel muttered. Anderson snorted and rolled his eyes, but guided her by the back into another room. It was packed with people talking in small groups, laughing in completely false ways and commenting on horrendous outfits. Rachel, however, was more distracted by the mahogany monstrosity rising like a crystal-and-amber-decked god in the back of the room. While Anderson was sidelined by someone or another, she slipped away and slid gratefully into a short-backed bar stool.

“What can I get for you?” asked an objectively attractive man.

“First, I’m going to need to see some references on your cocktail making skills,” she joked. She laid her hands flat on the bar and leaned in. “I need an Old Fashioned and no puns.”

To his credit, the man laughed. “Well, I’m from Kentucky and have been bartending there since I was 21. Those references good enough?”

“Let’s see your skills, cowboy,” she flirted good-naturedly.

She watched him closely as he mixed up the cocktail, only a long strip of burnt orange peel sullying the bitters and bourbon--no maraschino in sight-- stirring in a hypnotic rhythm, crafting a wonder of an American cocktail. Finally, he set it before her with a raised eyebrow.

She sipped carefully, rolling the bourbon around on her tongue, eyes involuntarily closing.

“That’s perfect,” she moaned.

He winked at her. “I know.”

“Did he let you make it yourself?” Anderson asked, suddenly appearing to her right.

“He made it himself,” she said, not trying to hide the awe in her tone.

“Oh, really?” Anderson laughed, staring appreciatively at the bartender. “High praise.”

The bartender blushed and shrugged. “Something I can get for you?”

“White wine will be fine,” Anderson said.

Rachel made a face, quickly or simultaneously mimicked by the bartender and Anderson laughed. “Fine! Fine! I’ll take a whiskey sour. Then we should probably head to the runway.”

“Do we have to go see the clothes and things?” Rachel whined.

“There are very attractive models for you to stare at,” Anderson wheedled.

Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Mostly, when I see those girls I wanna throw sandwiches up on stage. And pie.”

“Not cookies?”

“Not nearly as satisfying as a sandwich and a piece of pie,” Rachel said seriously. Her Old Fashioned disappeared fast and Anderson had already half-finished his whiskey sour. They ordered another round and sat at the bar, chatting with the bartender and occasionally with other guests who only came up long enough to get their martinis and wine coolers.

“No respect,” Rachel grumbled, slightly drunkenly, as a woman in heels that would put Rachel in traction walked away. They had missed--well, she had had about four cocktails, so however long that had taken, that was how much of the fashion show they’d missed. Anderson didn’t seem too put out.

“Respect for what?” Anderson asked, obviously playing Words With Friends and losing. She leaned over; he had to be playing Jon.

“Booze, no respect for proper booze, for what it can do, for what it can taste like when the right amount of force is applied with the proper glass-stirring utensil with just the right amount of ice and the keen eye of a seasoned drink-mixer,” she lectured. “They come and get their martinis and their terrible little cosmos and froofy little micro-brews--” 

“Froofy?”

“--but no respect for what makes alcohol truly great.”

“Its ability to get you drunk,” Anderson answered.

“Its _versatility_. Its, its unapologetic existence. ‘I exist to get you drunk,’ says the $20 1.75 liter of shit-tastic bourbon. ‘I don’t taste good, but with the correct mixers, I taste okay,’ he says.”

“The bottle of bourbon is a male.”

“Well, the cheap stuff,” Rachel said. “The top-shelf shit is definitely lady-like. They should probably come with hats.” 

“Hats?”

“Floppy-brimmed and red.”

“Okay,” Anderson laughed, taking her drink. She lunged for it, but ended up hanging an arm around his neck as the bar stool failed her and the rungs beneath tripped her. “Damn thing--”

“I think you mean your feet.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, I heard Tommy Hilfiger is premiering a line of skater shoes. You’ll like that.”

“Oooo, I need a purple pair. Do they let you buy right off the runway? I’ve got pretty big feet...” she trailed off as she stole her drink back and stumbled away. Anderson could only follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, inspired by Eddy and Patsy at the fashion show in NY episode of "Absolutely Fabulous."
> 
> Thanks to sarken for beta work.


End file.
